How they met!
by Errant Kitten
Summary: In truth, they all didn't meet till their late twenties, but I thought I'd do a "what-if" about their early adventures had they met as young women...First, Shane fake male hustler meets Alice, curious preppie!
1. Chapter 1

CENTURY CITY, LOS ANGELES, 1996

A MARLBORO, I'D KILL FOR ONE

Shane McCutcheon came out of the 7-Eleven, irritated, because the other clerk wasn't working there—the one who didn't card for cigarettes. She saw Clive and rolled her eyes. Clive shrugged. But he was lucky in that way—he didn't smoke tobacco.

Unlucky in almost every other sense—his mom began renting him out to pervs when Clive was in Huggies, he'd tested positive right before quitting middle school, though whether that was because of dicks or Clive's love affair with the needle, Shane could only guess.

The two fifteen year olds walked to the curb and surveyed the cars. Nothing would seriously be driving by, no horny tricks, really, until it got a bit dusky, and the first thing Shane would demand was that they buy her a Marlboro hard pack, or maybe a carton, goddamnit.

"Do you think I could get a trick to buy me a carton of Marlboros, Clive?" Shane asked, gritting her teeth. She'd borrowed a Viceroy from a senior citizen at Mickey Dee's earlier…but Viceroys, ICK.

"What, for one of your famous hand jobs?" It was a running joke among Clive and his friends—most of whom knew Shane was a girl, and had to keep her pants on to fool the chicken hawks—that hand jobs weren't too much fun.

"Shane, you've got to use your mouth a little." Clive said, chuckling. "Most of these guys want to go down on you, which of course ain't gonna happen, but a few might like a quick BJ, and you can't get AIDS from that, I don't think."

"Bullshit, and besides, what about Eldred, he lost an eye from oral herpes, or whatever." Shane said vehemently. "I can barely stand to touch dick, much less mouth it."

"You may be in the wrong business then, shweetheart" Clive said airily, as he waved at an approaching Lexus. The car slowed down and a chubby white haired corporate type motioned Clive in. Shane thought she'd seen him before, just one of the closet cases who got a little yum-yum before going home to bounce the grandkids on his knee.

ALICE IS FASCINATED

Alice Piezecki smiled at Taft…such a beautiful boy, with vacant eyes. And he must be mystified. All the sophomore girls at Campbell Hall would pawn a kidney to be in the passenger seat of Taft's Miata, and this ditzy little blonde just wanted to jump out in the red light district.

"Al, you sure you want to, um…" Where had he gone wrong? Taft had told Alice about his uncle getting busted for picking up a hustler down here, and the crazy bitch says "Show me where" okay, whatever, and now she's jumping out of my car?

"I'll catch you later, Taft!" Alice waved goodbye to the stunned lacrosse player and jogged down Santa Monica Boulevard, looking around. Alice was curious. Curious about a lot of things.

Like the heroine in her favorite childhood book, "Harriet the Spy", Alice went around watching people, and listening to stories, but possibly she was too loud, talked too much, because a good writer can't be too much of a gossip, and Alice loved to talk.

But this male prostitute thing is so interesting. Alice's mother, a former soap opera ingénue, had had many young boyfriends who she'd bought expensive gifts for—but from the little Alice had gleaned from her readings, the average male prostitute serviced other males, gay guys, of course.

Men apparently had sex with each other in cars, in public restrooms, it was SO intense. But look at these kids! Most of them didn't look much older than Alice, although she could tell she was getting strange looks in her Campbell Hall uniform.

Alice smiled, gave an insecure wink to a boy with a bleached blonde hairdo, and kept walking around. Oh wow. A car just pulled up. Was that—Fiona's dad? Alice knew the license plate "CD 4808" and yes, it was the Mazda sedan—oh gross, the bleachy boy was getting in. Eew.

And that bastard was always giving Fiona shit about her Precalculus grades? Stay at home, weirdo. Yuck. And he's, like junior warden at St. John's Cathedral, too. Icky poo poo.

Alice took one of her dad's purloined Pall Malls out of her purse and lit it abstractedly. No one was going to lecture her about the Surgeon General (who probably went to male prostitutes) today. Not in THIS neighborhood.

Oh fuck. Taft is driving down the Boulevard, looking for me. NO, NO! Go away! This is fascinating, and I can't have the doofus—I bet Leslie Stahl doesn't have problems like this. Alice spotted a dark haired kid in a leather jacket leaning against a signpost.

"Do-do you know anywhere where I could like, duck, an alley or something?" Alice asked breathlessly. "I'm being um, stalked."

"Whatever. But first, give me a cigarette—ugh, Pall Malls, what are you, Hank Hill?—never mind, give me them, and you can go right there, in the 7-Eleven, there's a bathroom with a window. Give me your cigarette, too, the one your smoking, the clerk is a douche. What's a girl doing down here on Santa Monica anyway?"

"You're down here." Alice pointed out, before surrendering her tobacco and trotting into the 7-Eleven.

Fuuuck is it that obvious? Shane bit her lip.


	2. Chapter 2

DANA'S WORLD IS BROADENED

"A girl? Who works as a MALE prostitute?" Dana Fairbanks looked at Alice, her best friend, her crazy best friend with the WEIRDEST interests, skeptically. "You went down to Santa Monica Boulevard, a goddamn war zone, to hang out with male-but-not male prostitutes, and you think I waste too much time playing TENNIS?"

Alice put a finger to her lips as they walked by Mrs. Nesbitt, the evil bitch who never gave A's in her French class…and, who visited Colette Gigax's home so often to use the pool without an invitation that Colette had put some weird thing in the water that turned Mrs. N's hair green…it didn't seem to wash out.

"Dana please, just give me a ride over there." Alice pleaded as they left the school building. "You just got your license—"

"Yes, and that's what my dad wants me to do with my new Sunbird. Drive it to where all the criminals and whores are—what fun!" Dana snorted. "They already don't like me hanging around with you. They've thought you were insane since we were in third grade, when you tried to drink my Mom's contact lens solution."

"Dude, I'm experimental and imaginative—it was on my report card last term. Please, Dana. Give me a ride, meet my friend Shane. Didn't I let you use our guest house when you were hanging out with Whitney what's her name?"

"Yeah, never mind about that." Dana said. "Fine, I'll drive you over to Crimeville." Dana didn't like thinking about Whitney…they'd met because they had the same orthodontist, and Dana felt so pulled towards Whit—those freckles!

After Whitney's grandmother had caught them together, they'd found other places to mess around—Alice's folks guest house, a cheap motel room once or twice, in the back of Whit's dad's Subaru—but then Whitney had gone to some kind of youth minister who told her to stay away from Dana, as Dana was some kind of seductive devil—but wasn't it Whit who'd made the first move?

Recently, Hunter Dobbin and Dana had also sneaked into Alice's guest house again, (Al forgot to ask for the key back, thankfully) and so Dana really had a lot more that she owed Alice for…Dana had to quit this kid stuff, fooling around with girls.

But hey, she wasn't as crazy as Alice. "Lookie, Dana, here's the 7-Eleven where Shane and Clive hang out!" Alice was waving and shouting at two disreputable looking types leaning against the brick wall.

"Who is Clive?" Dana asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Clive is a GENUINE male prostitute. He's been workin' the Boulevard since he was eleven." Alice said this with the excited tone of someone coordinating a Build-A-Bear party.

LIKE, BITCHES

Clive (Last name? Damned if we know) looked around at the girls hovering in the Jack-In-The Box booth. He looked over at Shane, to the right of him, desultorily nibbling a Bacon Potato Wedge.

Shane looked back at Clive and shrugged. Clive rolled his eyes and looked at the little bitches across from them, in their school uniforms.

Clive had once been asked to spank a chubby dude who insisted on wearing a plaid Catholic School skirt, but that was the limit of his sartorial experience in this area. They didn't look like comfortable clothes, but perhaps skirts fit better than the pink Spandex trousers Clive was wearing.

"So, um, Alyssa—" Clive asked.

"No Alice" the little blonde bitch interrupted. She was noshing big time, SHOVING a Sourdough Jack in her little mouth. "My dad named me Alice" she said with her mouth full of Swiss cheese "But if Lenore had had her way, I might have been Alyssa."

"Right, so Alice—" Clive continued.

"I mean, really, Day" the blonde bitch said to the dark haired uniform. "Doesn't Alice Pieszecki sound like some kinda immigrant scrubwoman?"

"So ALICE!" Clive said a little louder. "You've been down to the Boulevard three days in a row to bother Shane. What are you getting off on here?"

"Well, we bought you lunch, or dinner, its closer to—"

"No, we got that, and the carton of Old Gold Straights, Shane loves—"

"Pall Malls, close" Shane said, grimacing.

"Dad will miss those, but hey,I don't mind" Alice Pieszecki said heroically. The dark haired prep kind of looked around the restaurant and wiped her brow. She probably wished she was shopping at Ann Taylor.

"But why are you HERE?" Clive asked again. "I have to be here. Shane and I live in an abandoned factory over near MacArthur Park, and we uh, have to do this hustling shit. But you and Muffy here, you, what are you like viers?"

"Viers?" asked Shane and Alice together.

"He means voyeurs." Muffy Brunette said, sipping her Diet Coke.

"Oh, um yeah. I guess I'm interested in the lifestyle, but I also enjoyed meeting Shane." Alice said with a hesitant smile.

"What about me, do you enjoy meeting me?" Clive gave Alice a pseudo-stunned look.

"Sure, why not?" Alice said. "I um, like meeting people."

"Fuck off, Clive." Shane said. "They're nice girls, not bothering you. If you'd rather just go out and look for tricks, go do it. I know your habit is going to be down on you soon."

Clive bit his lip. Goddamn bitches. They all stick together, even Shane, who I think, wants to be a boy. Clive ate his French fries in silence.

"So, you live in a factory?" the brunette asked curiously. "Does it get cold at night?"

"Well, someone stole a bunch of comforters from Nordstrom's, and it's not too bad." Shane offered. "It's a little wet sometimes, there are holes in the roof."

"But you can't go to a shelter or something?" Blondie asked. Clive was feeling ill, this was sickening.

"Well, two problems. The nice counselors at the shelter want to know what your plans are, stick you in a foster home, which is bad news, and the nasty ones—" Shane hesitated.

"The nasty counselors like to touch us inappropriately" Clive said, grinning widely.

"That must be really fucked" the brunette bitch said, and for a moment, Clive really liked her.


	3. Chapter 3

THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA—LOS ANGELES, 1999

TODD GETS TO THE BOTTOM OF THINGS

Todd Parrish gave the kids a great big grin. Not much of a showing this semester, UCLA Doorways had taken a big bump since Dorian's suicide. One flaming queen, a macho-ish boy, two normal looking girls (black girl was cute) and a bulldyke type.

He tried to listen with a smile as Queenie went on…" I just think that my mom doesn't understand, she tells me shit like, 'How can you know you like only boys till you date a girl, it's like saying chocolate ice cream's your favorite when you never tried vanilla. I don't WANT to try vanilla."

Todd gave one of his gleaming smiles. "But remember, Earl—"

"Ernest."

"Yes. Ernest. Your mom loves you, and she knows, as I know—the homosexual lifestyle is a lonely one. And you have great interests—fashion and photography, dancing. Didn't you tell us that you've won ballroom dancing competitions? A lot of girls would find that quite compelling."

"But what Ernest is saying" the black girl insisted, "Is, he doesn't like girls that way."

"Now Bette, are you trying to keep all the girls for yourself?" No one appreciated Todd's humor. Especially these young dykes. Todd couldn't wait for this session to be over. Todd's masseuse, Grant, was going to be doing a little Rolfing on him.

It wasn't a slip if Grant gave Todd a happy ending…Todd just couldn't go further. Todd loved Lavinia, LOVED her, since they'd met at Campus Crusade—what a divine wedding it had been! But sometimes…but that was what Doorways was there for. Todd would get over Satan's temptations by guiding these misbegotten to the Light.

Oh, there was the cute security guard, Luis, they had to leave the room now, so the Overeaters Anonymous people could come in. Todd had jovially asked one of the sponsors if they ever had pie-eating contests or anything, but of course no one thought Todd was funny over here.

"Well, we have to break it up now. I hope you'll do your meditative exercises. Remember, even if you have trouble believing in the devil, something is dragging you down to that life—it's scary, the bar life. And there's a lot of temptation here at this school. It's part of why I transferred to Biola after I left the lifestyle and got engaged." Todd dimpled again.

Todd also had had to transfer because he was failing two out of five subjects…Biola was strict, but it wasn't hard, thank the Lord.

The tennis player, who Todd had read an article about, frowned "Biola? Sounds like a disease."

The black girl smiled at the tennis player. "Bible Institute of Los Angeles, you've never heard of it? It's in La Mirada."

"You're shitting me." The tennis girl shot back. "We have a Bible college in Los Angeles? I thought that was like, in West Virginia, where people had sex with their sisters."

As the girls laughed, Todd stomped out, thinking that the ex-gay movement might as well give up now if everyone was going to be so snotty.

ALICE IS IMPRESSED

After shaking hands with Bette Porter, Alice scratched her chin. She is really, really cute. Dana has all the luck, man. She meets hot chicks going to a self-help thing to get over dating chicks!

"I'm an art history major" Bette was telling Dana and Shane as the four of them sat on a bench outside the rose garden in Exposition Park licking ice cream cones, except for Shane, who just smoked. "I wanted to just be an art major, but I don't really have the talent, which is too bad."

Alice wondered if Bette had much talent between the sheets. "Shane, how are things going with the beauty school? I still think you should try college"

Shane coughed. "Yeah, Al, but I really want a job like, now. I'm really glad that the shampoo girl thing got me enough money so I could move out of your dad's guest house, he's been really cool about it—and I just want to do this. I've been cutting people's hair for nothing for a long time. I can do an industrial cut already."

Bette smiled at Shane, a little too long. Why isn't she smiling at ME? Alice thought.

"Finding a good stylist can be really difficult, especially when you have hair like mine, getting the kinks out of you know—nappy hair" Bette looked down at her hands.

"Bullshit, your hair's gorgeous. If you ever want to grow it out, I think there's a teacher at the school that I'm in that just does African-American hair, seriously." Shane patted Bette's arm, and Alice had had enough.

"Damn it Shane, they're trying to give up dykedom. Don't encourage."

Dana laughed. "Well, I think this may be my last Doorways meeting. Todd gives me the creeps. I think I'd rather munch carpets than listen to him quote from Ephesians."

Bette turned to look at Dana, ignoring her butterscotch cone. "But Dana, don't you want to have a normal relationship with a guy? Doorways is the best counseling service on campus. My dad is paying for it."

"You have to PAY for this absurdity?" Alice demanded, spilling her Cookies N' Cream on her paisley blouse. "It's not covered by student services?" Alice rolled her eyes. "That's why I go to USC, no weirdness."

"Well, Todd doesn't actually have a degree in counseling, so the school is reluctant to pay for his um, services." Dana said with a twisted smile. "But he has a good rep for bringing people back."

"Back from what?" Shane asked, flicking her butt in the grass.

"Uh, homosexuality" Bette said, staring intensely at Shane's rear as she rose.

"Fuck, I'd rather pay for a lap dance." Shane said, and ambled down the sidewalk.


	4. Chapter 4

ALICE INVESTIGATES

"So what are you saying, Bette?" Alice was fascinated by the (black?) girl. Bette was golden skinned and had translucent eyes. "You go to this ex-gay group so you'll wind up in Heaven, right?"

"Well…why are you interviewing me for this anyway?" Bette asked. The two were sitting on Bette's bed, in her little dorm room. Alice had decided, in her investigatory way, to have a surprise interview, to learn about this on-campus phenomenon.

Bette had great legs, but was a very difficult interview. Alice felt like spanking her.

"Well, I've been doing a little series on campus homophobia and conservatism for the school paper—"Alice began.

"But—that's such bullshit, Alice—it's not a phobia. I read somewhere that child molesters who write for the NAMBLA newsletter call anti-molesters PEDO-phobes. It's ridiculous. I am not interested in pursuing a homosexual lifestyle. I'm engaged to a sweet guy, and my dad likes him, and…"

But then Bette's face came closer, and Alice did not back away. Have to get close to the story. Bette inched a little closer to Alice.

"I think you have a crumb, or a bug stuck to your lip gloss," Bette breathed, but before Alice could say "oh gross" Bette's face was upon hers, and they were kissing.

Now THIS is a progressing story…better than the time Gloria Steinem posed as a Playboy bunny—Alice thought, and the two rolled around on Bette's bed.

But then Bette stopped, and pushed Alice back.

"I-I can't do this. You see, you people recruit, my pastor was right."

"RECRUIT, are you kidding?" Alice squealed. "You began eating my face in the middle of your bigotry, and I'm the recruiter?"

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Alice, or I'll call dorm security. My R.A. is right down the hall." Bette said firmly.

"Yup, I'm such a goddamn danger to society, minxy little me," Alice said, getting up, and arranging her dress. "Don't worry, Satan's leaving now."

"No—I'm an asshole." Bette said, hanging her head. "You're just so beautiful, those lips and stuff. I—I don't hate lesbians, I—Alice, I don't want to be one. But you're too-too damn pretty to be doing this kind of interview with me. You look like Jeri Ryan."

"Well, I think Jeri Ryan has crow's feet, but whatever." Alice was annoyed and pleased, and more than a little mixed up. Jesus.

DANA MAKES A CUTE BEARD

"So we're damn glad that Thaddeus has found himself a nice girl. Mr. Stadleman said, smiling. "The only thing the boy seemed interested in besides tennis, growin' up was paper dolls n' shit. I had to kick his tail for that."

"Paul, pipe down about that." Mrs. Stadleman said, as Dana and Thad sat on the other side of the table in awkward silence. "Thad was just real sweet to his sisters, and he made real pretty stuff for them. That was fine. But now he's found a beautiful girl to enjoy full time. You-all aren't engaged?"

"No, not yet." Thad said, smiling uncomfortably. He gently punched Dana in the arm, and she wondered if Thad, who was a fabulous tennis partner, had ever spent any time at all with girls. He was treating her like a fellow Marine.

"Well, I love keeping company with Thad—" Dana said this trying not to wince, as Thad's Dad was ogling her tits unashamedly—" And we also play a lot of tennis. People joke because he's captain of the men's team here at school, and I'm captain of the girl's squad."

"Tennis was always a little fairy for me, but the boy beat me regular at racquetball, didn't you, Thad?"

Thad smiled. He really had a charming smile, Dana thought, dimples and all that. The kind of hazel eyes that lit up a room. Lots of girls would have loved to spend time with old Thaddeus, but he was a rice queen, and preferred young Asian men who lurked around the Math building.

It amazed Dana that Ezra Stadleman had actually graduated from this university, he sounded like something out of Hee Haw. But you met all kinds at Alumni week, and the old bastard was like a billionaire from selling patio furniture. Poor Thad.

Suddenly Ezra Stadleman looked up. "Why if it ain't Conrad Fife! Con, you old bastard, doncha recognize an old fellow Pi Epsilon?"

Dana and Thad looked up and Thad's obese, balding father was hugging another obese balding man…who was with a skinny, dark spiky haired person…what was SHE doing here?

Conrad Fife grinned at Ezra. "How do, Ezra! This your wife and boy?"

"Yes, is that your…child?" Ezra asked, his eyes bugging out a bit.

"I meet up with this young fellow every couple of years when I come to town, he hangs out on Santa Monica Boulevard…this here's Shane!"

"What d'you do, Shane, you here at the university?"

"No, I um, cut hair."

"Barber, huh? Well neither of us need that, Haw haw…"

Dana looked at the dark haired barber, who was easing her butt away from Conrad's wandering grasp, and smiled…what were you gonna do?


	5. Chapter 5

ALICE, ALICE, ANTI-PHALLUS

As she left the dorm room, the girl squeezed Alice's hand. "You have to understand why it's hush-hush. My dad is Pierson Pipkin, general counsel at Grayson, Garrett and Winn, I might be a summer associate there and he would—"

But Alice wasn't really listening. This girl has no qualms about girl-girl fun, MORALLY; she just doesn't want her dad to know because he's a big shot at Wuddyacallit Corporation. And Bette is afraid she's going to Hell for wanting to munch my carpet.

Alice waved as her recent conquest drove off in a shiny blue Miata. Freakin' weird. But some of the most repressed ones seemed to be the wildest in bed. Alice had had a girlfriend last summer, a junior from Smith College who'd told Alice she was a SLUG—Smith Lesbian Until Graduation.

You can just turn it on and off? Alice liked boys, and she had an occasional roll in the hay with one or two, but it didn't really have the oomph that she got from making love to a woman.

Alice left the dorm and strolled across the quadrangle, looking around. Oh, Jesus. There's Bette with one of her—yes, that's the one she's seeing, his name is Thaddeus or Horace or something. Pudgy, balding, hopeful. Bette looked miserable, or maybe that was just Alice projecting.

There hadn't been any more kissing and what-all since they'd had their talk, but Alice was sure if she could just get Bette to focus, she'd…oh, enough woolgathering. Should I go and say hi?

Thaddeus/Horace/Walter (maybe) was now trying to hold Bette's hand, so well behaved. Alice sighed. Wouldn't it be easier in life if we could just like the ones who liked us? So much easier.

Alice remembered a really, really old "Cathy" comic strip, that her mom had up on the fridge when Alice was a child. In this cartoon segment Emerson, Cathy's geeky admirer was telling Cathy how special she was and how much he cared for her, and then came Cathy's thought bubble: "Why do all the right words come out of the wrong mouth?"

BETTE PORTER, ATTEMPTING HETEROSEXUALITY

Bette smiled at Stanton, who squeezed her hand. God, his hands are so sweaty. There's Alice, across the quad. Should she wave? But she was trying so hard, like the group said to avoid temptation.

She was really trying not to hurl, he had apparently swathed himself in some fragrance that was making Bette remember when Mommy used a cheap plastering service to put on wallpaper in the bathroom.

Stanton smiled. He had capped teeth. Could you get your teeth capped at nineteen? Seems like an early time to give up on orthodontia.

"I…I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about last night in the car." Stanton said, smiling his capped grin. "I—I tried too soon, I guess."

Oh God, the kiss. Well, he'd taken her to dinner twice, a movie, and the symphony. That's three dates. I guess that's when guys feel like they're owed. God he STANK.

Perspiring, Stanton smiled. "I really think you're special, Bette, and I hope I haven't misread the signals—"

Signals? What kind of signals do you send Elmer Fudd?

Stanton bit his lip and began a speech about his grandfather's farm, and some romantic wisdom he'd picked up standing by the cows.

Bette knew she was being unfair. Stanton wasn't gorgeous, but most good-looking guys, awash in pretty women, easily read her not-interested signals and moved on…and Bette wasn't interested in ANY guys, probably because she was mentally ill, if not tempted by Satan.

"Hey, Bette!" Alice Piezecki danced up, so feminine in a pretty sundress with cherries. How could such a girly girl be a stone dyke? And if she was, why were gays bad? I mean, really.

"Oh, Alice, this is Stanton Polinger, Stan, Alice Piezecki." After Bette's hasty introduction, Stanton actually looked a little relieved that someone had come to take the burden of affection off.

STANTON, STANTON, PHEREMONE PHANTOM

"Kid, three things I've learned. When a woman's mad at you, it's usually her plumbing, or her brasseire's too tight, the next thing is, don't go camping with a chick if she's on her period, 'cause the smell a' the blood will attract mountain lions and such, and the third is, the artist types go wild between the sheets!"

Stan wasn't sure what to do about all this. Initially he'd asked Bette Porter out because she was cute, and Stan's Uncle Anton had advised that artist types were really wild in bed, and "unscrupulous". Was this true?

He knew he must be luring her in somewhat because he'd borrowed his dad's 1964 Brut Faberge, which drove girls wild. Maybe Stan hadn't put enough on…he'd also mascara'd some chest hair on, because he tended to not grow much. Should he have worn a medallion?

But Uncle Anton had insisted that artsy girls were promiscuous because they had no values. "You fool around with the flaky types, and then marry a nice business like girl from an Episcopal Church."

Stan's roommate was sleeping with an fairly sedate Econ major, an Anglican bishop's daughter who was going into international banking and a registered Young Republican, and Staycie probably was as conservative as they came, but she and Larry were always using the room, four, five nights a week, and Stan, relegated to the couch in the living room, had wondered about his romantic future.

Logically, if Uncle Anton was right, if an Econ major could be this rambunctious, an artist would be even more exciting…Stanton had predicted three-ways in his future when he'd begun scoping out the girls in the Fine Arts department.

But his first conquest, a Creative Writing major with poor skin, she'd peed in Stan's contact lens solution when he'd insisted she blow him.

And now Bette who was part-black (you'd think she'd be "monkey hungry" or something) treated Stan's gentlemanly advances as if he had typhoid. Stan wondered if possibly she had some mental block against touching other people, some kind of "I need my space" thing (Stan had been getting that from chicks since high school).

But if this was true, why was Bette holding hands with this ditzy blonde while they were talking?


End file.
